


"Keep It All The Year"

by M_E_Lover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Harold Finch is a Scrooge, Inspired by A Christmas Carol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21895330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/pseuds/M_E_Lover
Summary: So this is my take on "A Christmas Carol" I hope I can do Charles Dickens some justice with my attempt. And although I'm not looking to copy the story it will obviously have a LOT of similarities.Happy Holidays to everyone, I sincerely hope you all have a wonderful day whatever you do!
Relationships: Bear & John Reese, Harold Finch & John Reese, Harold Finch & Nathan Ingram, Harold Finch/Grace Hendricks
Comments: 177
Kudos: 27





	1. To begin with...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elbowsinsidethedoor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elbowsinsidethedoor/gifts), [tchouli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tchouli/gifts), [Michaelssw0rd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michaelssw0rd/gifts), [oddgit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddgit/gifts).



> There are so many of you out there that I'd love to recognize for giving me such pleasure over the years but for now I'd like to start with these awesome people, thank you SO much for everything you do for all of us here in the POI fandom!!!!
> 
> And as Always to oddgit, I am so grateful for your friendship and cheerleading, you really have no idea how much I've come to appreciate everything you do for me! (You're the best!)
> 
> Comments are always welcomed AND appreciated.

**CHRISTMAS EVE**

_Ingram was dead to begin with. There was no doubt about it, Finch had signed his name as witness and watched the cold hard earth claim the casket that contained his remains. His business partner Nathan Ingram was dead as a door-nail…_

*************

Harold Finch sat at his desk, manipulating numbers as he was habitually apt to do and entering them into his ledger. The man had a penchant for sums, and an inherent ability to remember where every penny he’d ever earned, justly or otherwise, went.

Finch had spent the better part of his life acquiring more wealth than countless successful businessmen combined.

He’d spent nearly every waking hour fixated on his business affairs and accumulated wealth. He was a hard man and a miser to boot… and everyone knew it.

The bells above the front office door chimed, alerting him to Mister Reese’s arrival. Finch looked at his pocket watch, then through the large glass pane that separated their offices as his clerk and sole employee John Reese hurried to remove his scarf and stow it away. 

The man was late again and Finch had had enough. He picked up a stack of letters and walked into the outer office while Reese watched his approach furtively. “I’m sorry I’m late, Mister Finch. I’m afraid I slept quite late somehow.” He said remorsefully, “I won’t let it happen again.”

“No, I’m sure you won’t, Mister Reese or you will be looking for employment elsewhere,” Finch retorted harshly. “Have I made myself clear?”

“As crystal sir,” John replied repentantly and quickly pulled his own ledger from his desk to make ready for the day.

“Put that away for now,” Finch ordered. “You can finish it _after_ you’ve completed this task first and foremost. I want these letters copied in triplicate by the end of business hours.”

John looked at the sizable stack of paper and knew with what he already had to work on this day, he would be late in leaving early.

“Mister Finch,” he began anxiously, “I had hoped… I mean, well I had thought to ask you,” he stammered anxiously while Finch waited impatiently.

“Spit it out, man!” Finch demanded.

“I wondered if I might leave an hour early today sir,” he practically pleaded. “It being Christmas Eve and all, and it’s only once a year,” he said hopefully. John needed to get to the veterinarian to pick up his ailing dog Bear, he couldn’t afford to pay another overnight stay, but more importantly John didn’t want either of them to be alone on such a joyous day as Christmas.

Finch stood there and shook his head irritably, “Humbug. Today is a day just like any other, Mister Reese as is tomorrow and the day after. When are you going to understand that?” he scoffed indignantly.

“Please, Mister Finch,” John replied nervously, “I need to…” Just then, John was interrupted by Finch’s nephew Lionel when he came barreling through the door.

“Uncle!” he exclaimed jovially upon seeing his relative. The unpleasant knowledge that his mother’s beloved brother was such a curmudgeon had never meant much to Finch’s nephew. Not until this year when Lionel’s wife, Rhonda, finally laid down the law and convinced him to give Uncle Finch an ultimatum.

Rhonda had disliked Finch from the very start and would give the crotchety old man just one more opportunity to attend their holiday gathering and make merry with his only living relative. Either the old skinflint accept their invitation to Christmas dinner, or he would never see Lionel again.


	2. Lionel's ultimatum falls on deaf ears

John smiled warmly at Mister Finch’s exuberant nephew, grateful to see his smiling face on such a morning as this.

Lionel quickly removed his gloves and offered his hand in greeting to the lowly clerk. “Mister Reese, good morning to you!” he exclaimed joyously and shook John’s freezing appendage. “My heavens John, your hand is like ice!” he declared and turned towards Finch. “Uncle, surely you can afford to warm your office better,” he teased, “for your clerk’s sake, if not your own.”

Finch’s temper had steadily risen at the outward display of affability Lionel was so free with. The young man was just like his mother in that regard and he had no patience for such ease and cheer towards life’s unforgiving nature.

“Do not presume to know of my finances, nephew,” Finch retorted. “In triplicate, Mister Reese!” he reminded John again before turning his back to return to his office.

Lionel winked at John and hurried to feed what there was in the small fireplace with more coal before following two steps behind his cantankerous Uncle.

John smiled warmly at Lionel’s retreating back before getting to work, grateful to be able to warm his fingers. Perhaps he _could_ get everything done an hour early if he continued without interruption... that’s what he prayed for anyway.

“What brings you to my place of business?” Finch asked Lionel gruffly and sat behind his desk. “And what right do you have to be so joyful? I’ll wager you haven’t two shillings to rub together, yet you go on as if you have not a care in the world.”

“What right do you have to be so discontent, Uncle?” Lionel asked gently. “You have all the money you would need for a hundred lifetimes over.”

Finch glared at his nephew, waiting for an explanation of his presence.

Lionel sighed but would not be dissuaded from his mission, “I’m here to ask you to join Rhonda and myself for Christmas dinner,” he began excitedly. “There will be a number of friends in attendance, good food, games, and libations after dessert and much celebrating throughout the evening,” he explained enthusiastically, hoping to at least tempt the man. “Please say you will attend, Uncle, else I will never see you again.” Lionel hated to have to say it but Rhonda was adamant about cutting ties if he didn’t make an appearance this year and he really could not blame her.

Finch scoffed, “Humbug, I don’t understand why you’ve bothered all these years in the first place,” Finch retorted, “Go, carry on and make merry in your way, and I will in mine. Good day nephew.” Finch ignored the crestfallen expression on Lionel’s face, pulled out his ledger and went to work.

Lionel stood shaking his head for a sad moment before turning away solemnly and leaving Finch’s office.

He stopped at Mister Reese’s desk and presented his hand once again to say his farewell, “I do hope you have a very merry Christmas, John,” he said sincerely.

“You as well sir,” John replied appreciatively, “and have a wonderful New Year,” he added as Lionel closed the door behind him.

John looked through the glass pane solemnly to see his brooding employer diligently working in his ledger, oblivious to all else in the world.

*************

The hour was at hand, the clock struck three and John had miraculously finished his tasks. He walked in to Mister Finch’s office timidly, letters in hand, and placed the stack on his desk, hesitant to interrupt the absorbed man from his work.

Finch paid him no mind, lost in his numbers, and John hesitantly cleared his throat, “Mister Finch… sir,” he began, “Please, I’m through with my assignments for the day, may I go?”

Finch stilled his hand and looked up at his earnest employee irritably, “I’ll never understand why it’s acceptable to pick the pocket of one’s employer every Christmas Day, much less the Eve of said _holiday_ ,” he complained bitterly.

John had nothing to say as he stood anxiously, eyes cast downward, awaiting his fate. He just _had_ to pick Bear up this day before the four o’clock hour.

The Belgian Malinois had been born the runt of his litter and suffered with an array of infirmities throughout his young life. But Bear had also been John’s salvation, his best friend for as long as he’d had him in his company.

Finch pulled the stack of letters to him and inspected each one, taking a tortuous amount of time to finish while John’s heart beat hard in his chest.

He finally finished and scowled at his clerk, pulling out his pocket watch. It was ten after three and he couldn’t find a valid reason to delay the man.

Reese had finished his work, plus the additional tasks in record time. He took a deep breath, “Very well, Reese, I suppose you’ll still want the whole day tomorrow as well?”

John nodded, “It is customary to take off Christmas day, sir,” he reminded him.

Finch scoffed irritably, “Yes, yes, though I don’t agree with it I’m made to suffer nonetheless,” he complained, “Go… and get here all the earlier the day after Mister Reese!”

John smiled appreciatively, “I will sir,” he replied with relief and backed out of Finch’s office, bowing his thanks. “Thank you sir,” he said as he pulled his jacket on and put his scarf around his neck. “And a Merry Christmas, Mister Finch!” John called behind him as he hurried out the door.

Finch watched the subjugated man leave impatiently, “Merry Christmas indeed…” he mocked, “Humbug!”


	3. Finch starts to get shaken up

Finch walked through the cold streets heading for home, determined to ignore all the people he came upon with friendly smiles and warm wishes of Merry Christmas on their lips.

 _“Bah!”_ he thought spitefully, disregarding the greetings that were freely extended to him. He couldn’t understand why people picked a handful of days out of the year to show such unnatural inclinations toward their fellow man. It was the height of hypocrisy and he would take no part in it.

Finally, he arrived at his door and pulled his key from the pocket of his waistcoat only to then see the lion’s head door knocker twist and morph until it transformed into the appearance of his dead partner’s face.

Finch startled, backing away from the eerie visage glaring at him ominously, “Ingram?” he whispered in astonishment, “Nathan…?”

“Beware…” the disembodied voice warned him, and between one blink and the next the knocker was back as it was.

He swallowed hard and ran his hand over his face, “ _couldn’t have been_ , _I must be working too hard_ ,” he thought as he let himself inside.

*************

Finch settled himself into his night clothes and sat by the fire with his meager evening meal. As he gazed into the flickering flames he suddenly spied movement just outside his periphery. He blinked a few times, attempting to clear his vision and went back to his meal, “ _indigestion_ ,” he thought and continued eating.

He finished his plate and set it aside, finding the book he’d begun reading the evening before. He read until the clock struck eight and stopped when he heard the sound of what could only be described as a cacophony of metal instruments of some kind being dragged across the hardwood floor.

He bolted out of his chair, alarmed by the volume and proximity of said sounds. He stood behind the wingback. “Who is it?” he shouted when the handle of the parlor door shook, as though someone was trying to get in. Finch quickly picked up a fire iron to defend himself with and raised it above his head. “Who’s there?!” he shouted once more.

Suddenly the door flew open and a frigid gust of wind revealed the spectral form of Nathan Ingram, shackled and bound in chains, as he drifted in with the last of the icy breeze. The pitiable apparition towed a multitude of chains attached to what appeared to be heavy, forged metal boxes trailing behind him.

Finch was terrified as the apparition stopped not two yards away from him. 

“Nathan, it can’t… you can’t be here…,” Finch stammered, studying the face before him, “I saw it for myself, you’re dead… aren’t you?”

“I am,” Ingram replied soberly, “I have come from the grave to warn you before it’s too late.”

“You’re not here at all,” Finch scoffed indignantly. “You’re just a figment of my imagination, an undigested piece of beef,” he proclaimed, “Yes! That’s what it is, there’s more gravy, than grave about you, Nathan,” he derided the earnest spirit.

“Do not mock me!” Ingram exclaimed stridently and moved closer, as if gliding just above the floor.

Finch collapsed heavily in his chair, cowering from the angry spirit he knew in life. “Please, do not frighten me. Offer me some words of comfort.”

“I have none to give,” Ingram answered decisively, “You _must_ heed my warning, Finch!”

Harold calmed himself, for Ingram had been his good friend, and looked at the hawsers that trailed behind him. “You’re fettered Nathan... why?” he asked curiously.

“I wear the chains I forged in life. I made them, link by link, yard by yard,” Nathan replied earnestly, “The suffering I caused while I lived has been visited on me tenfold, and I am made to linger as I am now…for all eternity.”

“But why, Nathan? You were a good man.”

“I was a _man_ , nothing more!” was the retort, “I cared nothing for any living soul but myself. I took and took from humanity and never spared anything in return, no kindness, no mercy. You must hear me, Harold,” Ingram pleaded, “Do not follow my path. You must change your malevolent ways before it’s too late, before your immortal soul is doomed to walk the spectral realm forever, as I am forced to do.”

Harold shook his head exasperated, disbelief consumed his brilliant mind. “Alright then, Nathan. Tell me what I’m to do?” Finch decided to entertain his delusion, “What happens next?”

“You will be visited by three spirits…,” Nathan began.


	4. Things are about to get interesting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologize. First for the length, and second for the tardiness of this story. As some of you know, I have a predisposition to be overly optimistic when writing and hardly ever complete anything when I think I can. I've had trouble, a lot of trouble concentrating over many months now and it only seems to be getting worse, I'm sorry for that too. That said, I hope what I manged here is enjoyable. Thank you all for sticking with me.

“The first ghost will appear when the clock strikes one,” Nathan announced solemnly, “the others will follow at the top of each hour thereafter.”

“Please Nathan,” Finch replied, startled. “Can’t I just greet them all at once and get it over with? I’m not really up for meeting anyone right now.”

“You will receive them as they desire, Finch!” Nathan bellowed impatiently, “Must I explain again? If you do not heed them, if you do not accept what they tell you as truth… your soul will be damned for all eternity!”

“I’m sorry….” Finch supplicated apologetically, blinking as Ingram’s apparition began to slowly fade, “Yes Nathan, anything they want from me, they have only to command.”

Finch sat down before his legs gave out and pondered what just happened. The flames flickered in the hearth and the only sounds to be heard was the crackling of the fire and the unusually loud ticking of the clock that sat on the mantelpiece. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, recalling every word Ingram said to him. As the clock chimed every quarter hour, forewarning him that the ghostly visitations would soon be following, Finch became increasingly apprehensive.

After a vague extent of time passed, he had evidently nodded off. He opened his eyes and stood from his chair suddenly, and with a resounding, “No!” he circled the room, decision made, shaking his head in denial, “I don’t believe in all that poppycock, Nathan,” he shouted indignantly. “Do you hear me… you’re dead and gone and what I just experienced was all a horrible misinterpretation of reality,” he said with emphasis. “A delusion, nothing more than overwork and not enough sleep!” he scoffed, “I’m going to bed now, so leave me in peace.”

*************

Finch took the candlestick from the mantle and made his way up the long staircase to his bedchambers, all the while trying to convince himself the scene downstairs had never truly happened at all.

He shook his head, _‘So why was he talking to himself?’_ He thought with great annoyance.

He opened his bedroom door and let himself inside, releasing the sash of his robe as he made his way to the nightstand to set the candlestick down.

He shrugged out of his robe and pulled the drapes around the canopy bed closed behind him. Finch crawled in the bed and drew the ample bed linens and blankets up to his chin, settling in for the night. “Humbug,” he stated decisively and closed his eyes.

As Harold laid there, failing to fall to sleep, unable to ignore all the endless and ominous chimes of the clock as it lead up to finally strike the one o'clock hour, he cracked an eye open and shivered.

He watched in bewilderment, as between the seam of the bed curtains a blinding light poured inside the cocoon he nestled himself in.

His heart beat faster in his chest, compelling him to speak, “Who… who’s there?” he asked mildly, barely even a whisper to himself.

He tried again louder this time, “Is, is there someone there?” He waited with no reply for what seemed like hours.

Finch had nearly gathered enough courage to peek out and quell the curiosity of what was displaying such a bright cast of light upon the room. But before he’d had a chance, a hand… perfectly formed but unnaturally luminous, passed between the folds of hanging fabric. Harold was struck dumb as he watched glowing fingers curling around the panel and began pulling back the curtain…


	5. The Ghost of Christmas Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not have this entirely finished by Thursday night but I managed to get another short chapter done. Thanks again everybody!

Finch gasped and covered his eyes as the intensity of light overwhelmed him, engulfing his vision entirely before finally fading. 

When he could see again without having to avert his eyes, he fixated on the strange entity that now stood before him. He’d never seen anything like it before. The form of a man, seemingly illuminated from the inside somehow, stood there smiling at him.

“Are you one of the spirit's that I was told would come?” Finch asked, astonished by the man’s unearthly visage.

“I am the ghost of Christmas past,” the ethereal figure replied warmly.

Upon hearing the being’s voice, Harold was instantly convinced that he knew him somehow. “Tell me please, sir,” Finch began eagerly, “What brings you here on such a night… to my home, I mean?”

“Your welfare,” was the even reply.

“There’s no need I assure you,” Finch scoffed. “I have everything I need.”

“Your salvation then.”

“Humbug,” Finch shook his head irritably, “my salvation is no one’s concern but my own.”

“Is that so?” was the mild response, “Come with me.” The spirit moved towards the window and offered a glowing hand.

Finch was alarmed by the implication, “Do you mean to throw me from my own window?” he queried anxiously.

The expression he saw told him there was no misunderstanding but Finch found himself inexplicably drawn to the being anyway, “Please, I am but mortal and may not survive the fall from this height,” he clambered to say.

“You have only to touch my hand…” The spirit decreed.

Harold did as he was told, all the while still suspiciously expecting to be hurled out of the window. He placed his hand atop the illuminated spirits own and held his breath.

“Please, be gentle with me,” Harold asked humbly.

The spirit indicated with a nod of his head for Harold to look at what was hovering and darting about here and there in the cold night sky while he looked on astonished.

“Those are the souls who have left this realm and cannot help nor alter what has come to pass for the living.” Harold watched on as the ghostly figures soaring unseen above the cold and homeless, the downtrodden and starving men, women and children on the streets, oblivious of their ethereal presence and within reach if they just tried. “They long to help their fellow man, but it is far too late for them now.”

The next he knew, Finch was suspended, floating outside his walls clutching the spirits hand as they soared above the darkened streets of London to a destination Finch couldn’t even hazard to guess.

It was difficult to know how long or how far they flew above the city, but Harold eagerly beheld the view while he traveled on a cloud of utter tranquility. He watched in awe as the cold, dark concrete gray of the city made way to a vividly beautiful landscape of natural colors with stunning gardens and gorgeous trees kissed with golden light as the sun beckoned the dawn. 

Beyond the horizon was a wonderment of natures colors, a kaleidoscope of vivid pinks and brilliant emerald hues enhanced by the brilliance of the sun's golden rays.

It was a stunning sight and Finch could not remember the last time he’d ever appreciated such a beautiful sunrise... _had he ever?_

Next, he felt his feet alight on the freshly fallen snow that covered a meandering carriage road. “Where are we, spirit?” Finch asked readily, “Why have you brought me here?” he looked around the deserted area, and saw nothing but the path ahead and a bench near a bend in the road.

“Do you not recognize the landscape you have seen on so many occasions in the past?” The entity asked softly and walked towards the bench made of stone, “You have sat here a fair number of times as well Finch.”

As the ghost gestured beside him a young woman began to materialize and Finch was once again struck dumb, mouth agape and unable to move.

The beautiful red haired maiden sat quietly, unable to see him or the phantom that stood directly beside her while she peered around intently, as if looking for someone to appear, completely oblivious to their presence.

“ _Grace_ …” Finch breathed.


	6. The Second spirit departs leaving behind a revelation.

“I don’t understand, spirit.” Harold found himself trembling as he moved closer to the only woman he’s ever loved. “Is this a dream… why can’t she see us?” He stopped mere feet away and gazed upon the beloved woman he still cherished to this very day.

Grace had been the most wonderful person he’d ever known. She was the epitome of warmth, tenderness, compassion and her intellect was a rare and treasured virtue unto itself.

“How… how is this possible?” Finch asked, awestruck. His eyes never once drifted from the supreme example of perfection seated before him.

“We travel the road of the past…” the spirit explained gently, “We walk hand in hand with a dual realm, only _we_ can traverse this plane to revisit what has preceded our own.” The ghost watched pain and regret wash over Harold’s face while his own emotional empathy touched something deep inside.

The spirit had been watching over Harold since he was a teenager, he'd even been there when the young couple had fallen in love, on the very bench Grace sat upon now. He had hoped at the time that Harold would stay the course and never veer from the path that had lead him to her and could have provided him happiness for all the days of his life... but that hope had been all for not and now he stood witness to Harold being made to relive the worst day of his life all over again.

Grace wrung her hands anxiously, obviously waiting for someone to arrive. Harold’s eyes welled as he longed for what could have been. _‘She was so very lovely_ …’ he thought as he watched her unconsciously twisting the band of gold that encircled her ring finger. ‘ _If only he hadn’t been so pigheaded,’_ he chastised himself harshly.

“I see you do not recall the day,” the spirit remarked sadly. While Harold tried to search his waning memory the spirit stretched out his arm and pointed towards the short distance ahead, “Behold who comes.”

Finch was overwhelmed by it all when he saw himself as a young man approaching from around the bend. This juncture of his miserable life had finally sunk in. “No, spirit,” he gasped in supplication, “please have mercy and take me from here,” he pleaded. “I do not wish to live this day again.”

“You must observe and take heed of all that you revisit this night,” the spirit warned, “for if you do not, you will gain nothing from the lessons my brothers and I show you.”

Finch turned back hesitantly to watch his younger self amble towards Grace, removing his gloves like the gentleman he used to be then sat beside her.

 _“Harold, we must talk,”_ Grace began while Finch watched on, trying in vain to somehow remove himself from the scene, to harden his heart against what he knew to be coming next.

 _“What is there to say?”_ the young Harold replied indifferently to the distress his fiancé was radiating.

“Damn you!” Finch exclaimed passionately, “Look at her, take her in your arms and beg forgiveness, you fool!” he beseeched the spirit, “ _Please_ … if there is nothing I can do to change what I have done why show me this?” he implored, "Is it your wish to see me suffer?"

“Watch and listen,” the spirit replied sadly and turned his attention back to the ill-fated and squandered opportunity of a lifetime thrown away for a second time.

Grace took the engagement ring from her finger and held it in her hand. _“I don’t think you belong to me anymore.”_ she closed her eyes and a trickle of tears trailed down her cheeks.

 _“What on earth are you talking about?”_ his younger self replied, _“It won’t be long until I have made my fortune and enough money to make you a respectable lady of society. Why would you break our_ _engagement now_?”

Grace took a deep breath for courage, _“Harold,”_ she began solemnly, _“You have changed, my love.”_ Harold made to interrupt but she went on quickly, _“I have watched your desire for money overtake the kind, compassionate soul I once knew and your ambition has stolen the man I love.”_

Finch’s tears welled in his eyes for a second time as he watched his younger self getting ready to make the most devastating decision of his life.

 _“Grace, don’t you see?”_ his younger self explained indignantly, _“I’ve done all that I have for_ our _future. I will have the status and respect in society that I deserve and you will have anything you wish.”_

 _“It’s not me that cannot see, Harold.”_ Grace covered Harold’s hand with her own, “ _What I wish is already gone it seems.”_ She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief while Finch’s younger just self sat there unmoved, _“I do hope you find what makes you happy, Harold. Truly, I do.”_ She took the ring and placed it in the palm of his hand, closing his fingers around it. _“Goodbye,”_ she said tearfully and walked away.

Finch watched Grace leave with tears stinging his eyes and a painful ache in his heart. He’d been a fool and he knew it, he’d thrown away his one true chance at contentment when he let the love of his life walk away.

The painful scene began to fade and Harold watched his own bedroom re-materialize around him. As his surroundings became fixed, Harold felt the warm hand of the ghost of Christmas Past alight on his shoulder for a moment and the familiar voice whispered in his ear, “Learn to open your heart son... be well.”

Finch’s legs became weak, the revelation of his father’s spirit guiding him through the most horrible turning point in his life was too much. He mercifully reached the bed before collapsing into tears.


	7. The Ghost of Christmas Present introduces himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter but I couldn't stand to not assure people that I haven't given up on it.  
> Terra, Kilter, I hope that you and Kerry_543 enjoy the addition, as small as it is.

The realization that it was his father’s spirit that had guided him from the moment he appeared hit Finch hard. He had been shocked at first, but then grew angry that he didn’t know it was him until it was too late.

Harold wanted to have been given the opportunity to speak to him personally, to ask him things he'd never had the opportunity to before he passed. But that time had gone so he gave rise to his raw feelings of anger on the matter by addressing the empty room instead, “What have I done to deserve this… this punishment?” he asked spitefully. “Why have I been made to relive such painful memories?”

It all came back to him in waves as Harold sat on his bed and remembered back to his youth. The ache of losing his mother when she’d died giving birth to his sister, and his father’s grief afterwards.

That was horrible enough as it had been, then he lost his father when he’d been taken from him as a teenager. But the tragedy that had molded him into the unhappy person he was, that made him take such a bleak outlook on the world was when his beloved sister Samantha died in the very same way their poor mother had, giving birth to a child, a son she named Lionel.

That devastating heartache was his breaking point and it had been nearly unbearable being the last surviving member of his family.

Had it not been for the bright, joyous light that came into his life in a world of bitter darkness and made him want to live again… had it not been for _his beloved Grace_ , Harold was sure he’d never have been able to move on. Tears stung his eyes as he again mourned her devastating loss. ‘ _How could I have ever let her go?’_

From the day he’d been a fool and let her walk away without so much as a goodbye, he’d never been the same. His spirit had soon after been shattered; his life held no pleasure and his attitude pertaining to the world and its useless society had been adversely and irreparably damaged for good.

********

Harold rested his head upon his pillows. He was emotionally wrecked and he took a deep, shuddering breath before shouting, “I’ve had enough!” he closed his eyes, fatigue, and exhaustion taking a firm hold, “Let no other spirits haunt me this night,” he declared before going quiet and still.

While hoping that his distressing journey had all been just one big horrible dream, Harold realized he must have dozed off when an unusual sound startled him. He was fully awake now and looked towards the bedroom door. He blinked a few times hoping that the bright light emanating from underneath it was just a trick of his imagination and would simply vanish.

It was not to be. If anything the light grew brighter and the strange noise he’d heard was overlaid by the clock striking two. Immediately after the chime, he listened on as a mirthful laughter arose beyond the door.

Harold was engrossed, staring at the dark mahogany door when it suddenly swung open, piercing Harold’s vision with a blinding intensity. He was taken aback and shielded his eyes all the while the jovial laughter continued.

The light faded to accommodate his sight and he beheld a merry gentleman sitting comfortably in his large wingback chair alongside a hearty fire. He could hardly believe his eyes. The room was bright, and filled with a bounty of food and libations the likes of which Finch had never seen.

“Come in, come in and help yourself,” the spirit encouraged him cheerfully with a flourish towards the abundant display of food.

Finch couldn’t help but grin at the scene, “Thank you, I think I will,” he replied. “It is my house after all.” He was relieved for once. This ghost with his round face and his bald head and bright smile was a charming specter and nothing he could have ever imagined, “You are the next spirit I assume?” Finch inquired.

The exultant apparition shot from the chair and made his uniquely pleasant introduction, “I am the ghost of Christmas Present…” he announced jubilantly and making a show of adjusting his spectacles. “I am here to help you see.” he laughed at his own show of wit.

Harold cocked his head and grinned at the cheerful exhibition surrounding him. _This was going to be interesting…_


	8. Finch begins to see

“My, you’re a little exuberant spirit,” Finch remarked, amused.

“ _Little_?” was the jolly retort, “I’m a rather _large,_ exuberant spirit,” he said, laughing heartily.

Harold again, couldn’t help the grin that came to him as he took in the mien and the attire his unusual guest wore with such flare. This man, for that’s what he appeared to be, was stout in stature and it looked as though Harold had him by a good two inches or more.

But what the jovial soul lacked in height, he made up for with enthusiasm.

He held a tall golden torch and the wreath he wore atop his pate barely disguised the large bald spot peeking out from the crown of his head.

A long green, velvet robe with a brocade of gold, lined with white fleece draped the pleasant specter from head to toe of his squat frame. He wore round gold spectacles perched upon the bridge of his nose, giving him the aspect of a learned man.

Harold wouldn’t ordinarily be drawn to such a garish display, but this truly inimitable individual had a charisma that somehow pulled him in and embraced him.

“Well spirit, I truly don’t believe I need you or anyone else of your kind to show me anything further,” Harold replied coolly. “I’ve seen quite enough this night already thank you,” he complained, “or should I say, early morning, because it is now after 2 a.m.”

The spirit regarded him amusedly, which was a little irritating as Harold finished his insinuation... “So if you please, I would much rather stay at home the rest of this morning and get some much needed sleep.”

“I’m afraid it does not work that way,” the spirit answered amenably but unequivocally. “Wherever I lead you must follow.”

“Well then,” Finch began uneasily, “I mean no disrespect but could we hurry up and be done with this…,” he had no idea what to call the things he’d been forced to witness this night, “... this, this _journey,_ for lack of a better word,” he stammered, “I would like to put it behind me.”

The spirit raised his torch and offered his arm, “Take my hand then.”

And Finch did just that.

********

He watched in awe as his comfortable, homey surroundings faded around them and soon they materialized on the bustling corridors of the city.

It was mid-day it seemed and the spirit lowered his arm, leading a watchful Harold through the busy streets where vendors hawked their wares and the downtrodden begged for charity.

As he followed, Finch found it odd that no one paid them any mind but then remembered how it had been with Grace. He observed the spirit dipping his torch above the poor with their hands out and over the food that was waiting to be bought and consumed.

“May I inquire as to what it is you are doing?” Harold asked curiously.

The spirit continued waving the golden torch above the folks they came upon, “I am blessing those who are in need and pray that it is enough to lessen their burdens on this earthly realm,” he answered deferentially.

With a look of empathy in his eye they came upon a mother and her three children huddled against a wall. “I cannot influence what _they_ do, Harold,” he turned and looked Finch in the eye, “but I pray that I can alter _your_ path.”

Finch shook his head, “Humbug,” he scoffed. “Save your prayers; I am in no need of them.”

“No, you think not?” the spirit responded evenly, “Then let me show you some of those who do.”

The ghost offered his arm once again and Finch took it.

********

Suddenly they were on the outskirts of the city, standing in the shadow of the dreaded workhouse. It was dark and freezing and there were scores of people huddled together around small fires here and there and children clinging to their mothers for warmth. Finch watched them all as they moved throughout the miserable faces while the spirit, as he had the others, offered blessings over them with his torch.

“Who are they?” he asked soberly, trying to avoid looking at all the grief-stricken faces but unable to.

“Some are the families of those imprisoned inside, having since lost their homes with nowhere else to go. Their loved ones work off their debts behind those stone walls looming before us. Many others are lame and cannot provide for themselves yet somehow find some small consolation in the company of others akin to themselves.” The spirit turned towards a shivering Finch, “but I suppose they should all just die and lower the surplus population… isn’t that so?”

Finch was taken aback, “You use my own words against me,” he said solemnly.

“I do,” was the grave reply.

“Please show me some comfort spirit. I do not wish to see this sorrow any longer.” Finch had never seen this part of society and he wished he never had.

“Come then,” the spirit announced, hoping these sorry images would forever be a reminder to Finch’s cold heart to find some empathy for others in his miserable life. “We have more to see.”


	9. A pleasurable interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again for the wait and the small chapter... my lack of concentration is depressing as hell but I hope it's somewhat acceptable.

Next, they were back in the city and by the look of the grey gloom and fading light struggling to penetrate the smog laden sky, it appeared to be early evening.

Finch looked up and down the street, finally recognizing the address being that of his sister’s son. The spirit observed Finch musingly while they stood together in front of Lionel’s home.

“They must be having a party,” Finch thought aloud while listening in on his nephew’s joyful Christmas celebration inside.

“Yes, I’d say so, and by the sounds of it they seem to be having a cracking good time,” the spirit noted enthusiastically.

Finch had no reply when he suddenly remembered with some regret that he’d been asked to attend the festivity just hours earlier, but had unequivocally rebuked Lionel’s invitation.

Leaning forward he peered through the lace panels covering the windows and could see the movement of the people inside, their amusement obvious as they flitted this way and that dancing throughout the spacious room.

The merriment that could be heard from the street sent a wave of nostalgia through Finch. The good-humored Spirit watched as Finch followed the silhouettes inside, clearly enjoying themselves and he himself smiling unconsciously, “Can we go inside?" he asked the spirit expectantly.

“I think that can be arranged.” The spirit winked theatrically and next, they were standing near the wall and to one end of Lionel’s drawing room.

Finch was at once entranced while he observed the merry making in earnest, lost in the exultant enjoyment on display. Lionel and his spouse were hand in hand, dancing in time to the bright music filling the room.

“They make a handsome couple, wouldn’t you agree?” the spirit asked Finch, alluding to Lionel and his young wife Rhonda.

Finch had no response, but the Spirit noticed still that he wore a wistful smile on his face.

The music stopped and everyone applauded, then bowed to their dance partners before taking their seats, chatting happily while awaiting Lionel’s cue for what would come next.

“Are we all ready for a game?” Lionel asked heartily.

“Yes!” they all replied in unison getting a joyous response from their host.

“What do you think, spirit?” Finch asked eagerly, his eyes never leaving the party-goers, “Will it be charades, or a word game?”

The Spirit shrugged, “It’s anyone’s guess,” he replied, chuckling at the sight of the happy group.

At one time, it seemed so long ago now, Finch absolutely loved playing parlor games.

His old boss, Mister Fezziwig was the most benevolent and generous man he’d ever known and was famous for having the greatest revelries in the entire city.

These jubilant gatherings always included loads of food and libations and were highly anticipated throughout the year. But for Finch, it had always been the games that drew him in and captivated him. That was before he’d met and been enchanted by his love for Grace of course.

Lionel addressed his guests, “Let us play a word game, does everyone know the rules to _similes_?” he asked enthusiastically.

“Good choice, Lionel!” Finch exclaimed exuberantly, throwing both he and the spirit for a loop. Finch composed himself immediately and side-eyed the spirit, “Well, it was a good choice, what can I say?”

The spirit laughed raucously, “Who am I to disagree?”

Everyone in attendance applauded their hosts choice and were eager to participate in one of Finch’s favorite parlor games while Finch was happy to watch, even offering his guesses while the oblivious group threw out their own.

The spirit was loathe to remove Finch from such a hopeful and joyous event but he was not here to offer the man enjoyment or contentment. He had work left to do. “Come now, we have one more thing to see before I leave you for my brother,” he said solemnly and offered his arm.

The smile faded from Finch’s lips. He breathed in deeply and took the spirits robe once more…


	10. A little warmth and tenderness does wonders for Harold Finch's heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for taking so long, RL is a bitch! I'm sure everyone can relate these days. I hope this chapter makes up somewhat for the delay.

When next they appeared, the spirit had transported Finch to a part of the city that he did not recognize whatsoever. The streets were occupied with a fair number of people moving about having completed their business for the day. Harold watched them all, some were downtrodden and others nearly so as they went about the streets heading home.

“Where are we now, spirit?” Finch asked curiously as they ambled along at speed.

As he tried to keep up with the single minded spirit, while avoiding the ample pot holes throughout the muddy thoroughfare, he was becoming increasingly irritated.

“Be patient,” the spirit replied and indicated with a gesture of his torch the opening to an access street. “We’re nearly there.”

Finch looked to where he was indicated to but still did not recognize the roadway or any of the individuals they passed. “Should I know this place?” Harold asked uneasily. The state of the dwellings that were adjoined in a long, abject row left a lot to be desired and he couldn’t imagine who would live in such a dilapidated part of the city.

“The man has no other choice with the pitiful wages you pay him,” the spirit answered as if reading Harold’s mind.

“You mean?” Finch began but was cut off decisively.

“Yes, it is your clerk that resides here with his companion,” the spirit replied irritably.

Finch felt the sting that was intended palpably and had the good sense to look sheepish by the spirits retort, “Well, Mister Reese seems content enough,” he deflected as best as he was able, “I pay him an decent wage; he should do well with that. Perhaps he _chose_ to live here.”

“Hah!” the spirit scoffed impatiently, “As for decent, let’s look inside and determine if anyone would _choose_ this abode, shall we?”

Finch was silent and did as he was told. He stood in front of John’s front window and looked inside. Between the worn curtains, Finch could see his only employee removing the scarf from around his neck before sitting on the cement floor in front of a steady fire in a small hearth. As far as other furnishings, they were meager.

For a moment, he couldn’t understand why his employee sat himself on the floor until he saw a large dog bed, a safe but comfortable distance away from the heat. In the bed there was a fairly big dog wagging his tail happily while John spoke to him with a warm tone.

“I can’t hear what’s being said, could we go insi…?”

As fast as that, both Finch and the spirit were inside, standing within a few feet of the loving companions.

“You’re such a good boy, Bear,” John said affectionately. “I’m a lucky man to have you for my family,” he said, “I couldn’t ask for a better friend,” he praised him while Bear whimpered with contentment and nuzzled John’s hand.

Finch felt a pang of wistful tenderness wash over him. He remembered when he was just a boy, he had a dog of his own, and he loved his pet very much. But somehow, Finch intuitively understood that for John, this was much more than a mere pet… to him, Bear was indeed a true family member.

“Is this all there is?” Finch asked the spirit humbly while looking around sparse the room, “Is Mister Reese a bachelor?”

“A widower,” was the somber reply.

Finch turned towards the spirit in shock, “How…when did she…?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” Once again the spirit scoffed indignantly, “You have one worker, Harold Finch. Why don’t you know more about the one man that has done your bidding with nary a complaint all these years?”

Finch was ashamed, speechless, when John began preparing Bear’s medicine.

“Now I know you don’t like this but I know you’re going to be a champ and take it without a fuss,” John spoke soothingly while he mixed up the tincture with a bit of Bear’s favorite food.

Finch and the spirit watched on while Harold’s heart swelled with unusual warmth in his chest.

John placed the bowl in front of Bear, “Get it,” he prompted the dog, “Come on, eat your dinner, Bear,” he encouraged while Bear just looked at his dish uninterested.

“Oh come on, boy, it’s your very favorite cut of beef. I found it special for Christmas dinner,” John tried cheerfully.

“Why doesn’t the dog eat?” Finch asked the spirit dismayed by the scene.

“The animal is very ill and as of late has lost his appetite.” The spirit walked behind John while Finch kneeled next to Bear and watched John attempt to get his companion to eat.

"You asked who would live in such a place as this," the spirit reminded Finch, "now you see that this man spends the majority of his earnings buying medicine for the only soul he has left to love. He can offord nothing better."

Finch swallowed hard at the realization.

“How about I help you,” John suggested warmly and picked up the bowl. Using a spoon, he put some of the food to Bears mouth, “Here you go, it’s good. Have some,” he tried to tempt the dog.

“Come on, Bear,” Finch found himself saying, “It’ll help you feel better. Eat just a little for your master.”

Bear licked his chops and nibbled at what was offered, “That’s a boy,” John encouraged him, “Good, keep at it.”

From a distance, the spirit watched with hope, as Finch smiled spontaneously and John continued with relief to feed the dog small bites.

“You’re almost done, Bear, you’re such a good boy. I’m so proud of you.” John praised him and Finch joined in under his breath, “That’s a good dog,” he said.

“What was that?” the spirit teased.

“What?” Finch replied self-consciously, “I didn’t say anything.” He spluttered, “I would ask a question of you though,” he began as he stood up.

He walked over to the spirit to stand beside him while they both continued to watch Bear finish his meal, only taking a break to get praise from John in between bites.

“What is your question?” the spirit asked.

“Will the dog live?” Finch asked hesitantly.

The spirit let out a slow breath before he answered solemnly, “I see an empty bed by the fire,” the spirit gestured with his staff the worn mattress Bear has occupied the majority of his days, “I see a collar without an owner, carefully preserved and laid upon the bed reverently.” He stated, “if these shadows go on unbroken by the future and these events are left to continue much longer, no other of my kind will find the beloved pet here again… the dog will die.” 

“No, please, say it isn’t so,” Finch replied and went back to kneel again beside the ailing dog, observing his sweet temperament and loving personality as John now gave him fresh water from a second bowl.

“He’s such a fine dog, a pleasant companion I can tell,” Finch stated and reached out to touch Bear before pulling his hand away, “Please, spirit, is there nothing to be done for him? Mister Reese needs Bear as much as he is needed, let me help, please say there is some way I can help them both…”

“We must go,” the spirit announced resolutely, “There is one more of my kind to contend with. Come with me now, Harold Finch...”

Finch stood forlornly and returned to the spirits side. The Spirit of Christmas Present lifted his arm and Harold took it for the last time with the vision of his underappreciated employee and his wonderful companion etched forever in his memory.


	11. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come makes his appearance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everybody for your patience and readership, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.

_The gravity of the inaction and events he’s lived most of his life and his grim view of humanity have made an impact on Harold Finch._

_Next the scene begins when the world around him dissolves and Finch finds himself alone in an uncomfortably familiar place._

_********_

Harold peered around uneasily. _‘‘What have I done to be abandoned like this?’’_ He thought to himself mournfully. In the murky gloom surrounding him, he spied a bench and sat himself down upon the cold, hard surface.

Unsure of what to expect next, he looked through the darkness and to his dismay recognized that he was in the very same cemetery his business partner Nathan Ingram had been buried.

Suddenly, appearing from nowhere, a fog rolled in and blanketed the area as far as he could see, unnerving him. The ground undulated around him like a billowy storm cloud, ill-omened and frightening as it hovered just above the cold earth.

Finch shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his upper limbs vigorously, attempting to warm them from the chill seeping into his bones.

As he sat struggling, trying to sway his mind from its recent inclination to ruminate on dark forebodings, he went completely still, for out of the corner of his eye Finch saw an ominous figure appear. He turned his head slowly and saw through the mist a very dark, tall being a short distance away.

He knew instantly what it was but found himself asking anyway… “Are you the spirit Nathan Ingram and your brothers before you foretold me of?” Finch asked timidly.

The apparition offered no spoken reply, just a slight inclination of the hooded cowl he wore covering his entire head. “I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas yet to come, am I not?” Finch inquired again meaningfully.

The robe clad form now bowed at the waist methodically to acknowledge the query.

Never uttering a single word or sound, the silent ghost instilled great apprehension in Finch as he continued to tread the one-sided conversation carefully.

“You are here to show me the shadows of things that have not happened thus far… but will happen in the time before us… is that not so?” The ghost inclined himself in the affirmative once more. “I must confess, Spirit… I fear you most of all.”

Finch was very uneasy with this new entity. The ghost appeared to be much taller than he and the long, black hooded attire covered every inch of his angular appearance. But more than that, his mien alone demanded he be treated with veneration.

And so… Finch asked with the utmost respect, “Will you not speak to me, sir?” The spirit lifted a skeletal hand in answer and motioned for Finch to follow him. Finch was taken aback and fear squeezed his heart as he stared at the bony appendage. “Very well… yes, I will… I will just go with you,” he stammered, “the time is waning fast and is precious to me,” he murmured under his breath apprehensively.

The fog made way as he and his daunting guide walked on for some time until all at once they were standing inside the city stock exchange, a place he knew very well.

Finch had been in this grand location a great deal in his lifetime, for this is where his most important business is done.

He stood beside the spirit in the center of the domed space and watched a familiar group of men standing together in conversation. But they were not conducting business… they were talking about a dead man. “He never did much good for me when he was alive. The least I can get is a free meal out of the old bugger now.” One haughty man laughed and another added, “I’ll go to the funeral as long as lunch is provided.” He looked at his pocket watch and chortled, “Come on, let’s eat!”

Finch was confused as he watched them leave, “Spirit,” he asked hesitantly, “Why do you bother to show me this?” Finch had a nagging disquiet in the back of his head but couldn’t quite figure out why.

He and the tall cloaked being walked towards the exit of the building and the spirit again motioned with a bony finger for Harold to turn the doorknob. Tentatively, Finch moved his hand to the knob and opened the door. The change of location was disorientating when he suddenly realized he was back inside someone’s home… The room was dark but he could just make out that it had been stripped bare of everything but a bed where a lifeless form laid covered with a sheet. 

“Good merciful heavens, what is this?” he whispered fearfully. Finch hesitated and with mouth dry, he swallowed hard before revealing, “Spirit this is a fearful place. I wish to leave.” He looked up into the faceless entity imploringly when a flash of lightning illuminated his surroundings. “Please, take me anywhere else. I’m frightened,” Finch begged as recognition finally dawned on him.

This room, this stripped version of a bedroom, is in _his_ own home. The silent spirit pointed to the body hidden beneath the sheet, in its own way insisting Finch pull away the covered face hidden beneath.

Finch suddenly reeled, replaying the sounds and visions in his head of the callous, unfeeling men at the stock exchange. The men who spoke so harsh and spiteful of a dead man. “No!” he exclaimed passionately, rejecting the idea his own subconscious was trying to force on him. “I refuse to believe there is no one who feels some emotion over this man’s death. Show me some tenderness, some depth of feeling, I beseech you!”

********

Between one blink of his panicked eyes and the next, and to his utter dismay, Finch found himself back inside John’s home only to find him bedridden.


	12. Our tale is nearing its end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited for content 6-24-2020

Finch stood astride the ominous spirit while he observed the gaunt figure laying between them. Barely recognizing the man that had been so keen to tend to his ailing dog not so very long ago, he was shocked by what he saw.

John was oh so still and silent on the threadbare mattress.

With great empathy and fearful reluctance, Harold turned towards the fireplace, to the small bed where he’d last seen John’s tender ministrations being bestowed upon his beloved companion.

Harold’s fear had come true and he felt a painful clench inside his chest. The small bed was missing its occupant just as the previous spirit had foreseen, and Bear’s collar lay centered upon it with loving care.

“ _Why_ …?” Harold bemoaned and dropped to one knee beside John’s bed. He placed his hands together and looked up at the dark specter, “Of all the hateful, horrid souls in this world, why was _this_ man’s only joy in life taken from him?”

John stirred but did not wake and Finch placed his hand lightly upon his exposed forearm. John was burning up, “Is there no one to take care of this poor man?” he asked anxiously, “Will you not speak even now?”

The spirit lifted his arm and pointed toward the front door. “What?” Harold asked nervously, acutely feeling the strain and desperation overwhelming him by the helpless position he was in… and his clerk’s dire condition. “You don’t mean to leave him unattended?” Finch asked, wiping the beads of sweat from John’s brow with the sleeve of his gown, “He’s terribly ill.”

The spirit made the same gesture with more emphasis and Finch could tell with very little doubt the entity was becoming impatient waiting for him to comply.

Harold wasn’t beyond begging as he looked down at John and tried to reason with the spirit, “If we leave him now, in his condition,” he hesitated and choked back the regret he felt for his role in things and unwilling to finish his terrible train of thought, he continued humbly, “Please. I implore you spirit, _please_ let me fetch a doctor for him before we go.” Harold wiped the tears that sprang from his eyes unexpectedly as the spirit pointed at the door with _absolute_ finality. Finch looked upon John once more before his world faded around him.

********

Next, they were back in the same graveyard they had met in, in the same, cold dark location. Finch closed his robe tightly against the damp air and felt the now familiar fear clutch his heart.

He looked up at the faceless spirit on instinct before quickly averting his gaze, “If I may ask sir…” he began timidly, “Why, have you brought me to this morose place again?” he gave the area a quick glance and spotted a newly dug grave just a few yards away. Finch’s blood turned to ice when the silent spirit moved towards the site.

Finch could not make his legs cooperate to follow, to read whose dead body would be planted in the ground. “Please…, please let us go from here,” he stammered urgently, “I have had enough of this gloomy place to last a lifetime.” The spirit did not forestall his path until he reached the fresh hole in the ground and Finch began to panic terribly.

The ghost turned its hooded facade towards him and with its skeletal finger motioned to the mound of earth that sat beside the deep, dark hole.

“No, please,” Finch murmured fearfully, “Why must I follow?” The spirit lowered his arm and turned to face Finch fully, his imposing presence floating on the oppressive air surrounding him, “But, I don’t need to see anything more here.” Finch appealed quickly, “Why do I have to see who is to be placed there sir, I beseech you, please do not make me look upon the tombstone.”

Harold felt a flush of fear pass through him as his rationale told him whose name was carved into the slate. “I have learned many things from you, many, many things,” he found himself babbling but couldn’t stop as he tried to reason with the persuasive entity and hurried to add, “and I believe that I’m a better man for it, for all that you and your brothers have shown me.”

The spirit was not daunted and once again pointed to the tombstone. “Please listen,” Finch tried again and moved humbly towards the spirit, “You are the ghost of Christmas yet to come,” he stated urgently, “Does that not mean that there is still time to change the events you have shown me?”

The spirit seemed unfazed and again motioned towards the writing etched into the tombstone.

Harold reached the spirit and lowered himself to the ground, the cold earth staining the gown beneath his knees. “Please, let me repair the things that are in my power to heal.” He pleaded, “Let me mend my own spiteful relationship with my sister’s son,” Harold said urgently, “with my dear nephew Lionel.”

He clasped his hands in prayer, still refusing to look upon the name written in the stone, he lifted his head and peered into the blackness inside the hooded figure, “Allow me to make the lives of those around me better in any way that suits their cause.” Finch grasped the bottom of the spirits long black cloak and looked up to where its face should be, “Please, I’m begging you,” Finch tried for the last time, “Let me help Mister Reese, let me find the best doctors to save Bear so he can have a good long life, let me help John have an easier time of it for all the rest of his days.”

He began to sob, “There are so many things I can do to help so many people. I just need to be given the chance… please spirit, I beg you, not for me but for _them_.”

Through his tears, as he clutched at the spirit in supplication and bowing his head, Finch saw at last whose name was inscribed in the headstone before his vision swam and he felt himself falling through space.

**\- R I P -**

HAROLD M. FINCH


	13. Harold believe's it's his turn to atone for his past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I apologize for the delay, it's hell when you can't concentrate. One more short chapter before the finale. I hope you all enjoy.

Harold landed hard on his hands and knees inside a wet, dark space and immediately knew where he was. The confined black hole that had been dug to be filled by his own casket was musty and freezing cold. _“Oh my God…”_ he whispered as he clambered against the earthly walls surrounding him to get to his feet.

He stood on unsteady legs while claustrophobia began to overwhelm him. The damp earth attacked all his senses and he began to panic, “Spirit!” he shouted above him frantically, “Please spirit, are you there? Please, do not leave me in this ungodly place! I do not wish to die… not like this,” Finch lamented tearfully, “alone, unloved… forgotten...” His breaths came quick and heavy as his mind sought some resolution to his current state of despair.

Long, silent moments felt like hours as his chest heaved and hopelessness attempted to strangle him.

With no real way of knowing if he were truly alive or dead, Finch tried again anxiously, “Please, I beg you spirit. Give me the chance to change… to make amends,” he begged for his life. “Save me, let me right the terrible wrongs I have done in my life… allow me to help those who cannot help themselves, I beg you spirit.” Harold closed his eyes and bowed his head, praying for one more chance to live the life he should have for his miserable, spiteful years.

As Finch shivered violently, he thought he heard a rasping whisper, _“It’s too late.”_

He waited for a moment, hoping against hope he was right, that he had not been left behind. After another moment of silence he wasn’t sure if it had been real or inside his head but was compelled to answer nonetheless, “No…,” he responded contritely, “it’s never too late, Spirit! It’s never too late if only one believes.”

He thought of Grace in that instant, a memory he now cherished. He _must_ be given another chance… if for nothing else than to become the man she knew him once to be.

The walls began to move in on him from all sides and Finch was so frightened, he thought he might collapse.

He stared above him, with shaking hands pushing on either side of the cold earth, trying with all his might to forestall their progression and squeezing the life out of him, he tried to plead his case more urgently now, “Spirit, I swear to you!” he persisted fervently, “I will honor Christmas in my heart and keep it all the year. I will live in the past, present and future, the spirits of all three of you will strive within me.” He hurried his plea as the walls continued to close in on him from all sides.

Praying the ghost would finally believe his sincerity he implored with everything he had left, “I will not shut out the lessons you all have taught me. Oh, please I beg you let me do some good…” he shouted frantically as the walls now began to press against him, “Let me make amends before I die!”

Finch’s legs gave out as he strived to accept his horrible fate. He shut his eyes and could feel his body slipping down, down against the cold, enveloping walls.

With one last inhalation of breath Finch held the air in his lungs and watched his life pass before his eyes. The loving family life he had as a young boy flew by. Then next, the enthusiastic young man he became and the beginning of his apprenticeship, before meeting the woman of his dreams. And then it all changed. Finch witnessed the day Grace walked away and he did nothing to stop her, when his stupidity and stubbornness won out and his entire world changed for the worse. He saw Nathan aimlessly roaming the land of the forgotten as in a dream and finally, he saw Bear and John lying in freshly dug graves side by side with not a soul to mourn them. 

It was all done and over in a flash and Finch, in that very second, believed with his entire being that he deserved the horrible fate that had been bestowed upon him.


	14. The End...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things end with a great beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE:  
> I wasn’t able to pull off the big twist as I had planned to in the main story but it will be tackled and brought to heel in the epilogue I’ve started. That will cover some of what happened along Finch’s journey from a few of the other characters perspective and a bit more detail here and there. So please bear with me, I think I can end my endeavor to everyone’s satisfaction with that.  
> And if you all could let me for sure that you're okay with that it would make me feel better :-) Thanks again for all of your support!  
> PS. If you don't care about an epilogue this story can be considered finished as it stands now.  
> 

All at once and with a strange serenity, Finch landed on top of something warm and impossibly soft. His eyes flew open and he looked all around, astonished to find himself in a bed, _his_ bed. The bedpost was his, the bureau… the writing desk, the room, _everything_ was there just as he had left it.

Daylight filtered in through the sheer panels that covered the windows. The windows he’d last seen when he’d soared through them hand in hand with the spirit of his father. Finch leapt out of the bed elated to find himself still alive and feeling amazingly well. So well in fact, that for the life of him he couldn’t remember this particular feeling in what seemed a lifetime ago. “This can’t be!” he exclaimed excitedly, “I was just dead, wasn’t I?” he laughed ecstatically and was so overjoyed that he was still breathing, he sprang around the room like a ten year old. “Thank you, spirits!” he threw his arms up to the sky shouting exuberantly, “Thank you, oh thank you all!”

“I must get hold of myself,” he chuckled breathlessly, “Okay, calm down Harold, there’s a lot to do… but what first?” Finch turned to see his appearance in the bureau mirror and cringed, “First I must change into something presentable to begin my newly found purpose!” he laughed at his reflection. “So,” Finch said to his double, “This is what a happy man should look like,” with a huge grin on his face he was almost unrecognizable to himself. “Spirits?” he said looking above him, “Bless you for this chance to redeem myself,” he chuckled gleefully and began to undress.

A little surprised by his own uncharacteristic behavior, Harold didn’t care anymore what people might think of the new him. He was joyous and thankful and couldn’t care less what others might say. He was so exuberant; he could hardly wait to get started. First though, he wanted to make sure that his spirit guides had no question as to how grateful he was. “God bless you all endlessly for what you’ve give me!” he exclaimed and dressed again hurriedly, “I have much to do,” Finch pronounced earnestly and rummaged in his closet until he found what he was looking for. He pulled a gift box he’d buried under some old blankets ages ago and took a moment to run his fingers over the dilapidated container tenderly before lifting the lid.

Finch closed his eyes and smiled wistfully as he remembered Grace presenting it to him, the only splash of color he still owned, _“Scarlet symbolizes good health and happiness,”_ she had said to him as she placed it around his neck, _“And I want you to have both forever and always,”_ and then she kissed him.

He released a deep breath and opened his eyes. Lifting the lid from the small box, Finch removed the scarf before lifting it to his face and breathing it in. “Oh, how I miss you, my love,” he sighed.

Then suddenly, he heard the sounds of busy people on the street just outside his window and rushed to push open the tall panes of glass to see what the commotion was about. Finch watched folks of all sorts and stations hurrying along the streets on their way to meet with friends and families and now knew it was in fact, Christmas Day.

He closed his eyes for a moment and felt a swelling of contentment inside his heart as the warmth of the sun shone on him, bright and welcome.

He saw a young boy passing below, “You, young man!” Finch shouted exuberantly.

The boy stopped in mid stride and peered above him, shading his eyes from the sun’s powerful rays, “Me, sir?” he asked Finch, startled.

“Yes you, my fine fellow,” Finch responded cheerily, “Can you tell me if the prize goose is still hanging in the butcher’s window two streets over?”

“What...” the youngster responded suspiciously, “the one big as me?”

“Precisely!” answered Finch enthusiastically. “ _Such an astute boy_ ,” he said under his breath, “I want you to go and purchase it for me then tell the man to have it roasted and delivered with all the accompaniments to the address I give you.” He instructed, “Can you do that for me?”

“You must be joking,” the boy scoffed.

“I assure you I am not, lad. Wait right there a moment.” Finch quickly wrote out instructions and the address of his long suffering, underappreciated employee and went back to the window, “Here you are, young man,” Finch tossed the money down folded inside the address, “a _nd…_ if you have it delivered by two this afternoon, I will give you double again the cost of the food for your much appreciated efforts,” he announced happily. “Do we have an agreement?”

The boy opened up the paper that was tossed down and his eyes went wide, “Yes _sir_!” he replied and took off in a flash.

“Now,” Finch murmured carefully arranging the long scarf around his neck, “First things first.” He donned his top hat and left his room to begin his busy day.

Making his way downstairs and locking up his home, Finch quickly set to work. Walking through the throngs of people set on their own tasks before celebrating on this fine Christmas day, Finch tipped his hat to the ladies he passed and found a hansom cab to take him to a place he would never willingly go before today.

*************

After some time, the cab stopped at the destination and Finch bade the driver wait while he took care of a very important start to the day. Finch stood before the heavily gated entrance and noticed right away that the place was much less terrifying in the bright, welcoming sunshine.

It was as if the entire grounds had been transformed overnight and Finch was amazed by the stark difference of the atmosphere now. He smiled reflectively as he made his way through the meandering maze of gravestones until he reached the site he was here to visit.

He took his hat off before kneeling in front of the marker. “I just want to thank you, Nathan,” he began solemnly, “Had it not been for you, I would never have had the chance to mend my ways, to make amends, to help those I can.” Finch rose and smiled down at the slab of granite, “I hope I can do you proud, my friend.”

Finch was pleased with the beginning of the day and now the next stop on Finch’s list was the largest grocer closest to the workhouse he had been made aware of hours before. He enlisted his driver to help pack the cab with a load of food and some confections for the children and even found some small toys to hand out. Anything and everything that would fit around him was inside the carriage and more was to follow later as well… _It was Christmas Day after all._

When he arrived at the small camps of people living in the shadow of the workhouse, Finch saw a familiar figure from the previous night’s events. He was in the back of the crowd that had gathered around him and Finch made eye contact.

He motioned the man over and began handing the items out while he waited for the man to make his way through the crowd. The man greeted Finch reticently, “May I,” he stammered nervously, “May I do something for you sir?”

“Yes, my good man,” Finch answered cordially and shook his hand, “if you would be so kind, I would much appreciate it if you could help me distribute this bounty,” he said happily.

The man returned the handshake enthusiastically and a warm smile came over him at the sight, “It would be my pleasure, sir,” he replied.

When everything had been handed out and the dozens of grateful people had offered their sincere thanks, Finch turned to his helper and once again took the man’s hand, offering him a business card. “My name is Harold and I would be very pleased if you could call upon me tomorrow afternoon to talk about what I can do to help these people,” he said smiling, “May I have your name, sir?” Finch asked the dumbstruck individual, “Tom, sir,” he spluttered in astonishment, “it’s Tom.”

“Can I count on you, Tom?” Finch asked pleasantly.

A huge grin accompanied Tom’s answer, “I’ll be there with bells on sir.”

*************

The most important stop on Harold’s list by far was going to be his longsuffering clerk’s house. Harold sat inside the cab thinking nervously about what needed to be seen to immediately, for both John and his loyal companion’s wellbeing. It wasn’t long before an answer came to him. _‘Bear needs medical attention immediately, there’s no time to waste.’_

Harold tapped on the inside of the cab, getting his driver’s attention he lowered the small back window, “If you wouldn’t mind,” he began, “I would like to take a quick detour first,” Finch requested.“ Yes of course sir,” was the courteous reply. “Wonderful…. Could you perchance take me to the finest animal doctor in the city?” Finch asked hopefully. “Yes, absolutely, sir. I know just the place,” the man answered assuredly.

With that, Finch felt a weight lifted from and now had quite some time available to plan the day with the trip across town.

They arrived at the veterinarian’s office. “I won’t be a moment, my good man, and I will be very pleased to make your efforts this morning well worth your while.”

The cab driver tipped his hat, “Thank you, sir,” he replied.

Harold let himself inside and made arrangements for the doctor to make the house call early the next morning then was back in the cab and on his way to Mister Reese’s.

Harold pulled his watch fob from his waistcoat and looked at the time. It was two fifteen and he hoped the food had arrived on time.

He was almost to John’s ‘ _dwelling_ ,’ “ _I certainly won’t call it a home_ ,” he thought ruefully, “ _That’s another task on my list of things to take care of… immediately.”_

************

Two thirty arrived and the hansom cab stopped just outside of John’s door. “Thank you very much,” Harold told the driver and pulled out a hefty sum of money and gladly handed it over. The man’s eyes went wide before Harold noticed they were glistening, “Sir, I… I can’t take this. It’s too much,” he sputtered in disbelief.

“Poppycock,” Finch replied casually, so as not to make the man any more uncomfortable than he already was, “You’ve more than earned it, and if you have a card I will certainly call upon you again and tell my acquaintances about your excellent service.”

The man was speechless as he dug inside his trousers to find his information. “I can’t thank you enough, sir,” he said and handed over his card.

Harold looked at the card, “I assure you… Thomas,” he replied, “it was _my_ pleasure.”

Finch watched the cab traverse down the street and took a deep breath before peeking inside John’s window.

What met his eyes brought a tear to them both. On John’s largest table was the bounty of food he’d arranged for. The goose was perfectly roasted and took up most of the space on the table and the fixings filled the rest. But what struck Finch most of all was that John sat on the floor in front of the fire, with Bear sitting at attention while John fed him from his own plate.

Finch was hesitant to interrupt the sweet scene but was compelled to hurry and begin the most meaningful transformation right now, starting with John Reese. He knocked on the scarred up wooden door, planning a minor ruse before allowing John to know his truly altruistic intentions. He heard a small ruckus behind the door before it opened a crack. John’s blue eye stared out in sudden panicked confusion, “Mister Reese,” Finch said brusquely, “Will you not even ask me inside?”

John opened the door quickly, “Yes, Mister Finch,” he clamored to say, “Yes sir, please come inside.”

Finch gave John a look of mock indignation before stepping through the door and looking towards Bear, secretly smiling at the sweet soul.

John was quick to close the door and wipe his hands, a nervous tick it seemed, while Finch reverted his expression back to his natural manner and walked to the table full of food.

Finch stared in pretended disbelief, “From the looks of this feast I’d say I’m paying you too much,” he declared grumpily.

“No sir, it’s not as it seems. I have no idea who sent this,” John answered anxiously, “it just showed up a little while ago. I swear I didn’t pay for it! I couldn’t if I’d wanted to.”

“A likely story,” replied Finch casually. “Maybe I should raise your salary then? Is that what you’re saying?” he stated evenly.

“No, please sir, I need my wages,” John replied nervously. “Here,” he said and walked to Bear. Stroking his head John pleaded, “This is my only family, sir, his name is…”

“Bear,” Finch interrupted smoothly.

John looked at Finch stunned, “Yes,” he said quietly, “But how did…?”

“I have my ways, John,” Finch said fondly and walked over to the dog, “and I know how important you are to him,” Finch reached down and rubbed Bears ears. “And he is to you.” Looking into the sweet dogs eyes he said, “It’s plain to see how wonderful your bond is.”

John was speechless.

“John,” Finch began, “I don’t think you heard me right a moment ago.” He smiled tenderly, “I would like to quadruple your salary to start with.” He waited for a beat to see if John was going to pass out when he made no show of understanding him.

“Come,” Finch said gently and lead John to a chair. “Let’s sit and talk for a bit shall we?”

John complied wordlessly and gathered himself, “Did you say…? That I was being given a raise, sir?”

Finch smiled openly, “I did, John,” he replied. “But more than that, I have arranged for the finest veterinarian in the city to call on you first thing tomorrow morning to take care of Bear. He’s a specialist, if anyone can save him and get him back to good health, it’s him,” Finch pronounced assuredly.

John’s eyes teared up and he stared at the floor, “Please sir, do not tease about that,” he supplicated. “I couldn’t bear it.”

Harold placed his hand over John’s forearm and smiled gently, “I assure you, John,” he avowed. “I would _never_ do such a thing.”

John raised his head and looked into Finch’s eyes. “There is no way I could ever thank you enough, sir.”

“You can start by me by calling me, Harold.” Finch chuckled and turned his attention to the spread of delicious food and grinned, “And maybe invite me to share in your meal?”

John laughed and Bear joined in, trotting over and barking happily before nudging Harold’s hand to pet his head. “Who’s a good boy?” Finch praised Bear affectionately.

“Well, Harold…” John was so happy watching Finch and Bear’s delightful interaction he was almost giddy, “I would be honored if you would join us for supper.”

Stroking Bear’s head and rubbing his ears, Harold paused to look at his faithful clerk sincerely, “Thank you, John,” Harold smiled, “It would be I, that is honored.”

*************

Finch stayed for many hours into the evening in perfect company and had one of the most enjoyable, rewarding evenings of his life. John shared his emotional past, the ups and downs of the last few heartbreaking years his life. About his late wife and how Bear saved him from complete despair after her loss.

And Finch began to open up a little about his own loss and regrets, beginning with falling in love then letting Grace walk away.

At the end of the night John had a special toast to finish the night. With Bear by his side, John raised his glass to his guest.

“God bless us all.” he exclaimed joyously. Bear was quick to join in, barking happily and raising his front paws to jump onto Finch’s lap for even more attention.

“Yes Bear,” Finch laughed petting him and answering the dog’s enthusiasm, “That includes you most of all.”

“Happy Christmas…” John pronounced sincerely, “And God bless _you_ Harold.”

EPILOGUE TO COME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so awesome and patient with me. As regular readers already know, I always think I can get things done much faster than I can. I have put my foot in my mouth countless times and I feel bad when I do, so I’m going to really try to stop guessing on time frames from now on. And I have not forgotten about the tons of unfinished fics I have floating around out there. I assure you, I haven’t abandoned any of them… including my prompt requests! I hope you've all been staying safe and sound and things let up and get better very quickly for all of our sakes.  
> A Special Thank You to my very great friend Jen aka oddgit, I couldn't have done anything without you pal! Things will get better, I can feel it!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was tough but I got it done! Yay! I hope it meets expectations and is at least somewhat satisfying.  
> Thank you all again for being so patient with me and I hope everybody has a great Christmas and happy Holidays!

**Epilogue**

Finch had been better than his word…

He had transformed himself from the heartless curmudgeon he had been almost all his life, to a man who now had every soul he met praising his empathy and kindness. He’d also given much of his wealth to helping the poor and homeless as much as he could. He had also secured with Lionel the relationship his nephew had always wanted with him.

Along the way Lionel’s wife Rhonda had grown very fond of him as well, so much so that the couple named their first child after him. Harold was touched by the sentiment and took solace in the notion that his dear sister would be overjoyed to have him in her son’s life always.

John Reese was now a full partner at the firm of ‘Finch and Reese’ and his beloved dog Bear had been cared for by the best veterinarian in all the land and was cured of all of his life threatening ailments. Finch was now a regular guest for dinner at John’s and Bear was healthy and happy, playing about with boundless energy and giving both men a run for their money when they took him to the park.

********

“My dear Uncle!” Lionel exclaimed jovially. Opening the door wide to admit his guests; he bowed at the waist and motioned them inside. It had been a full year since Finch’s total transformation and welcoming Lionel and his wife into his life. “We’re so pleased you both could join us.” He smiled wide and shook John’s hand exuberantly. “Please, allow me to take your coats.” Lionel closed the door behind the two men and hung the garments quickly. He was so excited about his Uncle’s acceptance to dinner and the surprise he had for him, he couldn’t seem to hold his enthusiasm.

Harold and John smiled in appreciation of their host’s zeal, grinning at each other as Lionel hung their garments in the closet. “It is so wonderful that you are here,” he said and began escorting them through the house to the parlor, “especially on this day of all days.”

Harold and John could hear much cheerful chatter as they strolled behind their host until they came to stop at the door that was closed.

Lionel turned around and looked at Harold eagerly. “Uncle, I have a wonderful surprise for you,” he began. Harold looked at John who shrugged his shoulders but had a playful grin on his face. Whatever this was John was definitely in on it.

“We have invited many to our home tonight, but I believe that one guest in particular just might be more welcomed than the rest.”

Harold didn’t know who his nephew could be eluding to but he was very fond of Lionel’s friends and had very little doubt he would feel any different about another. _‘But why all the fuss?’_ he thought.

Lionel knocked twice before opening the door and stepping aside to admit his guests.

The room grew quiet as Harold and John stepped inside.

Harold felt his knees grow weak as he laid eyes on the love of his life, “Grace?” he whispered _. ‘Were his eyes deceiving him? It can’t be…_ ’ The next thing he knew he was being guided like a blind man as John directed him to the sofa she sat upon. His mind was reeling and he was lost for words as he stared at the beauty before him.

“Harold, my love,” she said nervously and searched his eyes, “It’s me, it’s Grace.”

Harold began to choke up, still unable to speak but for the tears that conveyed his emotions. She was just as lovely as the day he let her walk away. How despicable he was to ever let that happen.

“Let’s all head towards the dining room while these two dear friends catch up, shall we?” Lionel announced to the group.

John was becoming choked up too as he saw Harold’s feelings getting the best of him. “Splendid idea Lionel,” John replied and followed behind.

“Harold, are you alright?” she asked, concerned and pulled out her handkerchief, drying the tears from his face. She took his hands in hers, “will you not speak to me?”

Harold took a deep breath, his emotions all over the place. This was real. This was actually happening and he was overjoyed. “Oh, Grace…” he brought her hands to his lips and kissed each one reverently.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you my darling,” Harold bowed his head and closed his eyes, hoping against hope that when he next opened them his true love would still be there.

Grace lifted his chin “I’m here sweetheart,” she assured him gently, “I’m here for as long as you like.”

He choked up, “But how…?” he asked her, finally able to get a handle on his emotions, “How are you here?” Harold had just assumed she would have married and raised a family, never to have given him a second thought all these years.

Grace smiled, “Your friend John found me and told me of your kindness, your generosity and good will towards your fellow man,” she explained, “And he’s told me of your loneliness throughout the years also. He’s a very good man, isn’t he?” she asked.

“There’s none better,” Harold replied smiling. “Grace, I have missed you every single day of my life,” he confessed and gave her hands a gentle squeeze, “But tell me about yourself,” he asked urgently, needing to hear from her own lips how the many years have passed for her.

She smiled so sweet and sincerely Harold’s heart skipped a beat. That smile had sustained him on many a cold lonely night and he cherished the sight again now… in person. His heart swelled with love and adoration.

“There will be plenty of time for that,” she replied with a kiss on his cheek, “If you’d like to, that is?”

“Oh, my goodness, yes!” he laughed, “You’d have all the time in the world if it were up to me.”

“Yes, I would very much like that.” She leaned in for a tender kiss on Harold’s lips and at that very moment, he was the happiest man in the world. “But first,” she grinned, “Let’s enjoy being with friends and family, just for tonight.”

“Yes, my darling,” Harold agreed. “For tomorrow starts the rest of our lives…”

THE END


End file.
